


the catharsis of bloody knuckles

by deviont



Series: it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, i guess??? idk im tired, some violence but its not too bad i dont think??, still if thats a trigger for u be careful readin this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deviont/pseuds/deviont
Summary: fighting was something ingrained into his very being. it stood to reason that it would also be one of his many shitty coping mechanisms.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this instead of sleeping, and i also wrote this instead of finishing the next chapter to igfims which is months overdue. sorry. ill get to it i promise. in the meantime, more of my precious baby verse bc at this point its one of my shitty coping mechanisms. i wrote this bc i saw a bpd bingo thing on tumblr and got Inspired™ and ill probably write more from it later.
> 
> anyway, on to the actual thing. i kind of barely read through it as i wrote it, so if there are mistakes lemme know. stay tuned to find out if i ever write and complete something without a fuckign pov shift

“Hit me.”

He’d said the words before, a hundred times before, although he typically didn’t use those exact words. Usually replaced them with things like ‘is it difficult being that idiotic?’ or ‘i feel sorry for whatever mirrors have to reflect _that_ ’ or any other insults he had in his vast repertoire of snappy comebacks. Or, when those didn’t work, they were said in the form of a fist, because he wasn’t above throwing the first punch. Especially not if he was already drunk.

Thomas would be disappointed if he ever found out. Not drinking was one of the few things Thomas had very firmly stated as a rule at the start of their relationship, and Thomas was already so much more than Alex could ever hope to deserve. The thought of disappointing him, _knowing_ in his bones that Thomas would be disappointed if he ever found out, made his gut twist uncomfortably and fueled the fire behind his words and his fists. Thomas did his best to be understanding, to be gentle and kind even when Alex couldn’t be, but Thomas wouldn’t understand this. Thomas wouldn’t understand how he needed to feel someone breaking his nose or forcing the air out of him with a well placed jab to the ribs. Thomas wouldn’t understand the need to taste the blood from a split lip or the catharsis that came with the ache of bruised and bloody knuckles.

Thomas wouldn’t understand his deep set need to be hurt, to be punched and kicked and beaten and yelled at. Alex himself barely understood it, but that didn’t stop him from seeking it out. He only hoped Thomas would forgive him if he ever did find out. It wasn’t self-harm after all, he wasn’t punching himself. And he only ever had one drink, enough to force back just enough of his rational thinking to allow him to start and participate in a fight with whatever bigoted asshole he managed to find. Really, all Alex did was talk about how much he loved his boyfriend and someone would eventually show up to tell him how wrong he was.

And well, Alex couldn’t be expected to let that slide, could he?

“Hit me.”

On the nights when he really wanted to torment himself, he’d think about John, start to hear his voice instead of the voice of whatever bum he was really fighting, feel John’s fists against him and it would send him to some place he didn’t think he’d ever escape from, a void stretching out endlessly that he couldn’t help but fall into. Alex quickly learned to avoid Thomas during the aftermath of those nights, because he didn’t think he’d be able to hide it from his boyfriend. Didn’t think he’d be able to hide the usual bruises _and_ the redness in his eyes and the tear stains.

But there were worse nights still, nights where Alex couldn’t sneak out of the house or where Thomas had forced Alex to come home with him and he couldn’t go out after work. The nights where his mind was screaming at him about how awful he was, how disgusting and terrible he was and Alex needed to find someone who would shout those same things at him, someone who would throw punches while saying them and Alex had some sort of justification. The weight of the thoughts was crushing and having justification, having solid proof from an outside source lessened that weight, if only slightly. If only for the briefest of moments. It was worth it. So long as Thomas didn’t find out, it was worth it.

“Hit me.”

But Thomas did find out. Because as much as Alex had claimed him to be before they’d started dating, before John died, Thomas wasn’t stupid. Knew perfectly well when his boyfriend stumbled into their apartment at four in the morning and literally collapsed into bed that it was from something other than another obsessive writing spree. As passionate as he was, not even Alex could bruise his knuckles from typing. So Thomas followed Alex one night, determined to find out where his boyfriend was going, what he was doing to himself. Determined to see if he could help.

Thomas was more than a little shocked to find that Alex’s late night excursions were petty bar fights.

“Hit me.”

Thomas dragged Alex away before it escalated too far, ignoring the shorter man’s protests as he apologized to the man his boyfriend had been about to break the nose of. Dragged him home, into their bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub while he rummaged around for their first aid kit. Stayed silent while he applied peroxide to the bloodied spots on his boyfriend’s ever bruised knuckles, and to a cut on his cheek. Apparently some guy he’d fought had been wearing a ring. Took a deep breath as he began carefully wrapping Alex’s hands.

“Alex, darlin’...Why have you been doing this? Why didn’t you come talk to me?” He was careful to keep any hint of an accusatory tone out of his voice, because the last thing he needed was for Alex to slam up his walls for the night and refuse to talk. Kept his tone carefully neutral, truly just asking a question. Could’ve just as easily been asking about the weather. Ignored his own hurt for the time being, because hadn’t Alex promised to try to talk to him before doing things like this? But that wasn’t fair, because he knew Alex was trying.

Alex, for his part, stared down at his newly wrapped hands, refusing to meet Thomas’ gaze and the southerner thought he might be trembling slightly. “I...I didn’t think you’d...I’m sorry, I’ll pack my things if you wa-” Alex was cut off by soft lips against his own, and he almost whimpered into them but the kiss was over as quickly as it began. Thomas was looking at him with that look, the one that was a mix between fondness and sadness, the ‘Alex is a drowning kitten’ look. No, wait, Alex wasn’t supposed to think like that.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere, honey. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I want you to know I’d listen.” And Alex’s heart almost breaks at that, because he was the one being an asshole in this situation, and Thomas was trying to comfort _him_. And he’d promised Thomas he’d try, and Thomas wasn’t getting angry at him for seeking out fights or even for drinking, and he owed Thomas some sort of explanation. Even if he was pretty sure his boyfriend wouldn’t really like his explanation.

“Hit me.”

“I hate myself, Thomas.” He heard the sharp intake of air, felt Thomas’ hands grip his own just a little bit tighter, but he couldn’t stop now that he’d started. “It’s constant, and it’s crushing, and it _hurts_. And fighting people, going out and having someone smash my jaw? It doesn’t get rid of that feeling, but it puts a reason to it. It’s not some random thing I can’t control, it isn’t another symptom I’m helpless to. There’s...there’s a _reason_ , there’s _justification_ , if these people hate me? then there’s good reason for me to hate myself, right? It’s stupid, this sounds really stupid saying it, but...it makes that constant weight just a little less crushing. I can breathe.” And wow, now Alex wished he really could punch himself, because he always said way too much, and now Thomas knew how fucked up he was and would finally come to his senses and leave just like everyone else in his life.

But, to his surprise, Thomas didn’t throw Alex’s hands away from him and leave as quickly as possible. No, Thomas dropped his hands so he could gently pull Alex into a hug, and a hand carded through Alex’s messy hair and Alex thought maybe he was crying because he could hear Thomas’ soft ‘shh’s and Thomas still didn’t sound mad and said he wasn’t going anywhere, that he loved Alex and they’d be okay.

“Hit me.”

“It’s okay, darlin’.”


End file.
